Preserving the Ingenairii

by Jeffrey Quyle

“Good,” he said in response to Alec’s nod. “I like the fact you don’t waste a lot of time on chitchat. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve got some things to clean up here. You just help yourself out, okay?” Crebben said and he left the room without waiting for an answer.

  If Scarle had a hand in the attempt to capture the emperor the previous night, Alec was sure there were unpleasant ramifications they were trying to figure out. It would be perilous to be publicly recognized as such a staunch enemy of the emperor, unless and until they were successful in overthrowing him. He decided he would prefer not to spend any more time there than necessary and slipped quietly out the door then walked quickly up the drive and out the gate.

  Alec remembered the part of town Rief had taken him to when he was last in Michian, a place with street side cafes and indolent bath houses. It seemed a likely neighborhood for a small, discreet inn, so he set his feet walking towards the west side of the city. He found such a place quickly, a quiet inn with rooms that looked out over the street in front. Alec paid for a night in advance, went to his room to drop off most of his weapons, then went to a bath house and rented a room for an hour, something that caused him to receive suspicious looks. Alec knew that in Michian the bath houses were little more than houses of ill-repute, but he wanted to relax and clean himself in the large tub of hot water, and he did so without incident.

  He remembered his time with Rief in that neighborhood, still amused by Rief’s reaction when he had forced the growth of a tongue to end his mute status, and talked to her for the first time. Satisfied that he was clean enough, he stopped at a bakery for a loaf of bread, got a skin of berry juice, and went back to his room, where he rested and stayed out of sight until the next morning.

  He had no sooner laid down in his bed to sleep and pinched out his candle than he heard the door open. Startled, he rolled over to see the outline of a woman’s body in front of the hallway light, and then the door closed.

  “Who is it? Who are you? Why are you here?” he asked. He reached for his powers, but couldn’t grasp them. His sword and knives were draped across the back of a chair on the other side of the room, and then he felt the bed sag, and the woman sat on the mattress.

  “Don’t worry, Alec, it’s me,” he heard Bethany’s voice whisper.

  What? Who are you?” Alec was startled, scared by such an impossible situation.

  “I’m Bethany. I’m a water ingenaire,” she said playfully.

  Alec started to cry. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked again.

  The girl reached over and hugged him, and Alec inhaled the same scent of fragrance and water that would forever be associated in his memory with his beloved.

  “I know you loved me, Alec. I know you didn’t want to let me die back there in the palace, but it was time for me to have my reward, my love,” she said gently as she hugged him. He raised his arms and embraced her firmly.

  “You can go on with your life, and it won’t hurt me. You won’t dishonor me if you love this girl. I know you wouldn’t play false with her heart, and I know she could only be the best-hearted of women if she has appealed to you,” the Bethany figure told him.

  “Does she have a good heart?” the other presence in the room asked him.

  “She does, Beth; she does. She doesn’t even know how good she is, but I’ve felt it. Even when we were back on the beach and I didn’t have my powers, I knew she was good,” Alec whispered through his tears.

  “She feels right to me. I know you can protect her and help her to grow, and she can be the partner and friend you need,” Bethany told him. “I would have been those things for you, if circumstances had allowed, and I know we would have been blissfully happy. I’m sorry we didn’t have that chance, but you deserve another opportunity,” she whispered.

  “Bethany. Why are you here?” Alec asked.

  “Because you need to hear this. Because you can’t consume yourself with guilt, or miss this opportunity to save and love Jeswyne, and to let her love you. I’m gone Alec, and all I want in this world now is for you to find happiness. You’ve earned it after all you did for everyone.

  “They all came to see me over the years, so many friends you made – Cassie and Appel and Faldor and always Rief, and Durer and Noranda and Moriah and Nathaniel. They all shared their love for you with me, Alec,” Bethany told him. “And I was lucky to have so many friends help me and love me and support me.

  “Now it’s finally your turn to have love Alec. Do the right things, and enjoy the rewards this time. I think you’re finally nearing the end of your calling from God, and you can finally live the normal life of a five-marked ingenairii, demon-slaying king!” she leaned into him in the darkness, and he felt her lips on the top of his head.

  He raised his head, and realized he was lying flat in his bed, hugging his pillow tightly, with thin strips of sunlight shining in through the window. Was it a dream? He looked at the strands of long blonde hair twined around his fingers, and sighed a deep sigh. It had felt like a benediction, and he stewed over its meaning as he lay upon his mattress.

  After he rose and dressed, Alec went down to the desk and paid for the next night at the inn, then left his white robes and extra blades in his room so that he could walk across town to the tournament grounds, joining a streaming throng that was heading to the opening rounds of the games. Crebben was waiting and confirmed Alec’s registration for the officials, who inspected his blade and allowed him to enter. “Remember, every victory you win is one less opponent we’ll have later. Kirill says that if you make it past the second round there will be bonuses; the more you win, the bigger the bonus,” Crebben told him. “It’ll be a lot more than you make juggling blades, and the house might do more for you if things go right.”

  Alec smiled a tight smile and nodded, then headed inside, where he found another official offering direction. “Scarle preliminaries? Are you Healer?” he asked. Alec nodded. “You’ll be in pen one – first match of the day. Congratulations. Now hurry, you don’t want to hold things up.”

  When Alec got to his pen, an official was inspecting and marking blades. Another was speaking to the multiple men who stood in the space. “We’ve got eight men here; only two of you will advance, so keep that in mind.” Two wore Canare colors, one wore Indige colors, and the others wore the stripes and checks of minor clans.

  “Last one to arrive will be the first one out, Scarle. We all agreed,” one of the other combatants told Alec. Grim faces nodded agreement all around him. He took a deep breath, but bit back a retort, then shrugged and turned his back on them all to look out the barred window at the sandy grounds of the tournament field. The ring was roped off at the standard twenty five foot width; it would be crowded with eight men swinging swords.

  “Pen one. Pen one, move out,” an official nearby called, and men trooped over to the doorway. “Remember, first event of the day, salute the emperor’s box,” the official mumbled to each fighter. All the men entered the ring and turned in unison to bow to the emperor’s box, then moved to the center and placed the tips of their swords together. “Three, two one,” an official nearby counted slowly, “Go.”

  Alec saw a blade tip rise up towards his chin and felt another one slice across his forearm as he threw himself backwards and somersaulted further towards the edge of the ring. He stood and flipped the sword from his left to his right hand as he looked at the circle of swordsmen. One of them had already fallen victim of another’s stroke, intentional or not, but the rest were facing him.

  Alec looked at the gash on his left arm. It felt painful and blood was flowing freely from it. He took a breath and engaged his healing power to repair the muscle and stop the flow of blood. Mercifully, the pain of using his energy was diminished after a night’s rest, and he used only a second’s worth of energy to fix his arm and drop his healing abilities to concentrate on the fight.

  Three men stepped forward towards Alec while three others fought among themselves in the other portion of th
e ring. To be in this portion of the tournament meant that these fighters weren’t likely to be highly skilled, Alec reasoned. He watched them carefully, then attacked the one on his right who had separated himself by the greatest distance. Alec feinted then struck blade on blade with his sword, hitting at an upward angle that produced the result he wanted – the sword flew from his opponent’s hand. Alec drove his shoulder into the unprepared man and continued his momentum towards the blade that lay on the ground, picking it up and advancing on the other two men with a blade in either hand now.

  The unarmed man scurried out of the ring, and Alec attacked his other two opponents, both from Canare, with vigor, jabbing and slicing with his best mortal abilities, until he bested them both and left them on the ground, bleeding from numerous small wounds.

  Turning to the other group of warriors, he saw that only one was still standing, someone from a minor house whose colors were yellow, white and red stripes. The match was over, with Alec and the other survivor ready to move on to the next round.

  “You didn’t really belong with this lot, did you?” an official said as Alec walked out of the ring. Alec shook his head. “You’ll need to surrender that extra sword you know. You don’t get to start every match with two,” the man said with a grin. “Be back in an hour for your first real match.” Alec grinned back and handed him the sword, then continued out of the entry hall and walked out of the arena to sit against a tree trunk and collect his thoughts.

  “Hey! You gave folks a jolt,” a voice said as a toe nudged his own shoe. “I came looking for you to let you know we noticed. The two blades was a nice stunt; you should have saved that for a later match when you might need it and could catch someone off-guard.” Alec looked up and realized that the Scarle champion, Nabakov, was talking to him.

  “Thanks,” Alec said.

  There was a long, silent pause.

  “Crebben said you don’t talk much. That probably helps you stay out of trouble. I talk a lot, but I can fight my way out of trouble,” Nabakov blithely remarked. “You keep fighting like that and stick with me and when I’ve got the princess after all this is over, I’ll find a couple of her friends for you to enjoy.

  “I need to head in for my first match. See you in there,” the warrior added as he turned and walked back to the stadium.

  Alec sat and watched the stream of people walking past after Nabakov left. It was still early in the day, and already the crowd seemed to be large, larger than he remembered for the early matches in the last tournament he had been in, decades ago. Perhaps the stakes in this tournament were so high that they pulled the population in – it sounded as though the throne of the empire was potentially at stake.

  It was time for him to head into the arena and prepare for his match. People were murmuring as the crowd passed him. They weren’t speaking about him individually, but talking about the red robe, the Scarle clan that was widely known to be plotting the restoration of Mikhail to the throne.

  Inside the arena, Alec was directed to pen three, where there were two warriors waiting for him to join them. This was the round from which only one man would move on. Alec studied the other two, as they also looked at him. There was an Emeral and an independent warrior in white. In this round there was supposed to be a less capable warrior along with two competitive ones. Alec should have been considered the easy one to beat, since he came from the qualifying match; that meant these other two swordsmen would be competent, and he would need to fight a strong battle.

  “Pen Three, you’re next. Move to the door,” an official called. Alec let the other two lead the way, and noticed Nabakov was in the group in Pen Four, as well as a Scarle fighter in Pen Five. The red house members would be cheering for several matches in a row. Alec and his competition stood at the door and had their weapons briefly inspected, then the match in the ring ended, and they were ushered along.

  “We’re behind schedule. Make it fast,” an official told the three of them as they stepped into the sandy fighting ring. The three of them looked at each other, then spread out and waited. The bell rang, and the Emeral swordsman automatically came towards Alec. So I am the weak one, Alec reflected as he raised his sword and advanced away from the rope boundary.

  His sword and the green-clad warrior’s sword clashed in a high exchange. Alec competently riposted to a lower position, but the other man successfully blocked him and they returned to a high clash of steel again. The man was heavier than Alec. Alec realized he was going to have to maneuver to manage a successful wound on the man, and he began to turn the exchange to his left. His opponent allowed him to lead the direction, not saying a word, until Alec stopped and suddenly rolled back to his right, swiping his sword across the other man’s thigh as he went.

  He had scored the first wound, and he stood to see if the man would retire or remain to fight. The expression on his face made clear to Alec that he intended to fight on, and was angry to have suffered a wound at all. Alec rushed the man and began to maneuver him to the left again. Four steps later, Alec feinted another roll to his right. The Emeral warrior reacted to the rightward ruse, and Alec was able to easily drive the point of his sword into the man’s shoulder, an injury that ended the battle.

  “Very unexpected,” the white-dressed bystander remarked as he advanced towards Alec. Alec was unwilling to comment, and decided to make this match a faster one, rushing towards his opponent and pressing an active attack that matched up well against the wiry swordsman. Alec had him pressed against the ropes and pinked both shoulders, drawing a graceful surrender.

  Alec and his opponent shook hands, then walked out of the arena and back into the shadowy maze of columns and pens where fighters were coming and going.

  “Nice going. Our house is already ahead now – that Emeral fighter was favored to win at least two matches, maybe make it to the finals,” Nabakov said conversationally as they passed.

  “Your next match will be in ninety minutes,” an official reported to Alec as he did a post-battle inspection of his blade. “Be back here then.”

  Alec went out to a carnival setting nearby, where he watched a man handling horses, and thought about his last tournament. He had been here with Rief, she had supported and encouraged him, and it had made him feel better. Restless, he returned to the stadium, but went up into the stands and walked among the crowd, watching the people, and glancing at the combat below from time to time. The boxes were filling with nobles and high merchants he noticed, although the emperor’s box was still empty.

  Two boxes of seats were isolated from the others in the crowd, and they had a heavy contingent of armed guards around them, Alec noticed. There were Scarle men and also men with the gray and black fringed robes he had fought during the attempt to kidnap the emperor at the promenade. Linen screens hid the sight of the occupants, arousing Alec’s curiosity even more.

  Whatever trouble was brewing at this tournament would see prominent activity from those boxes he was sure.

  Alec had reached the time to return and receive his assignment to his next pen. In this round he faced only a single opponent, a large man wearing Canare colors. They entered the ring to battle, and at the sound of the bell Alec’s opponent advanced and engaged in some testing strokes. His footwork was flawless, and Alec knew he was facing the toughest opponent he’d seen so far.

  The man had a long reach, and a long blade. Alec felt his tunic ripple from one nearly-successful slice, and he debated whether to call upon his warrior powers to fight this match. Alec felt pleased that he had avoided any use of his energies for battle so far, other than healing his first round cut. He wanted to save his use of powers for the final match. Alec decided to use finesse and deception to win this match if possible, and to save his energies for the last battle.

  Backing up, Alec watched the timing of his the yellow-sleeved attacks, and as a third consecutive chop whistled from left to his right, Alec flipped his sword to his right hand and brought it down savagely. He felt the blade sever the tendo
ns in the wrist of his opponent, and he quickly stepped away as the other man’s blade fell to the ground and he grabbed his arm to staunch the bleeding.

  The victory was clearly Alec’s, and a roar went up from the crowd as Alec became the first member to qualify for the finals. He bowed towards the emperor’s stand, where there were now people sitting, and then waved to the crowd in all directions.

  “Come on, give it up!” Nabakov said as he prepared to enter the ring. He was looking at Alec in a way that let Alec know he was being sized up as a potential opponent. “Nice trick, but it won’t work in the next match. Have anything else up your sleeve?”

  Alec shook his head and walked away. Hands were reaching out to slap his back as he entered the gateway to the waiting area. “You’re the first one to qualify, so you’ve got a good long wait until the final match begins,” an official told him as he walked up to look at his blade. “You’ve given Scarle a boost, haven’t you, taking out two big contenders?” he returned the blade to Alec and walked off.

  If he remained among the warriors in the arena, Alec had a notion of what would happen. He’d be told to make sure he lost to Nabakov in the finals; anyone involved with Scarle would pass the message along. He decided his best option was to make himself scarce, so he left the space below the stands and walked up to enter the stands, sitting in a crowded section where his red robes were less visible in a sea of mixed colors.

  The crowd was restless. They expected Nabakov to win on behalf of Scarle and the deposed emperor; the word of that arrangement had spread far and wide. But their sympathy was with the new emperor, Sergey. They trusted him to do the right thing for the nation. Alec was at a loss for a way to channel that support in this critical scene.

  Nabakov won his match, and after a pause in the action, the match to choose the third finalist began. Alec only watched it half-heartedly as he scanned the crowd, and looked at the covered Scarle box. What could they be hiding there, he wondered. Were there a dozen archers set to shoot at the emperor, or some other trick hidden in plain sight? The third and fourth matches were completed, and Alec knew that his time was approaching. The emperor had not yet arrived from watching the archery finals, so the fencing match could not be held.